Page 42 of Full Tilt (Love The Game #4)

I freeze. My spine goes rigid. “Uh. Yeah. Cosmo sent it.”

A beat of silence follows, and my stomach twists.

Then Cam huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, well, Pen’s got grabby hands and zero brain-to-body filter. He smacked my ass for luck. It wasn’t a thing.”

“You sure?” My voice is low, wary, careful. Not because I doubt him, but because I’ve seen how this stuff gets out of control.

He makes a noise halfway between a scoff and a sigh. “My boyfriend”—the word sends a ripple through my chest—“is in England. Not Jacksonville. Not named Pen. And most importantly, my boyfriend’s not a clueless flirt who calls his own mum ‘bro.’ So yeah. I’m sure.”

My chest tightens. Not in panic this time—but relief. I pinch the bridge of my nose and let out a breath I didn’t realise I’d been holding.

“I don’t give a shit about any of it,” he says firmly. “The photo. The headline. The innuendo. Your parents were standing ten feet away when it happened. They saw it. They laughed.” He pauses, voice softening. “They know I’m not stepping out on you, Brent. And that’s all I care about.”

My throat thickens. “Yeah,” I murmur. “I guess I was just worried. Not about trust. Just… you dealing with it all. Alone.”

“I wasn’t alone. Not really,” he says quietly. “I had your voice in my ear as soon as I read the BS.” A pause. Then he says, “And I got you now.”

I lean back against the counter, eyes stinging, heart pounding. Jesus. This man.

“Listen,” he says. “I’ve got a final media spot in twenty minutes. Just local stuff—wrap-up for the tour. If you’re okay with it, I’m going to mention you.”

I blink. “Mention me?”

“Yeah. I was going to say something vague about someone waiting back home, but… screw that. If they’re going to talk about you, they can at least get your name right.”

My stomach swoops. “You sure?”

“I’m sure. You’re not a rumour. You’re real. And I’m not hiding that.”

The air leaves me in a rush. “Camden,” I breathe. “You’re gonna kill me.”

He chuckles, low and warm. “Just trying to keep things interesting.”

Silence laps between us for a moment—soft, full, heavy with something tender and whole.

“I love you,” I say, because I need to. Because I can.

“I love you too,” he replies, quiet and sure. “And I’ll call you after.”

Then he hangs up, and I stand here alone in my kitchen with the widest grin on my face and the giddy weight of something that feels a hell of a lot like peace pressing deep into my chest.

Let the headlines say what they want. I’ve got the truth. And the truth is—I’m his.

It’s well past my bedtime when my phone vibrates on the nightstand.

Camden: You should be asleep. But if not… [link]

My breath catches. I sit up straighter in bed, brushing crusted sleep from my eyes as I tap the link. It takes me to a local US sports outlet’s page, already updated with the interview he did barely an hour or so ago. My heart skitters.

The video loads with the buzz of background chatter and stadium noise fading into a calm hush as the interview begins.

Cam’s seated on a low bench, shoulders broad and relaxed, still in his branded polo shirt.

The camera picks up the soft glisten of sweat on his collarbone and the angry bruise under one eye that I instantly want to kiss better.

The interviewer, a neatly dressed local anchor with a crisp Southern lilt, offers a smile as she begins. “Camden Crawford. Tighthead prop for Exeter Seagulls, British international, and—after today—a real crowd pleaser here in the States. How’s the tour been treating you?”

Cam tips his head, smile crooked. “It’s been brilliant. Different, but brilliant. The fans, the players we’ve met, the energy—it’s been unreal. I think we’ve all enjoyed shining a little light on the sport over here.”

“Three friendlies, three wins, one a close one,” the interviewer counts off. “Not bad for an international exhibition series.”

Cam chuckles. “We’ll take it. More importantly, it’s been about building community and interest. Rugby’s a sport that thrives on heart, and it’s been great sharing that with new faces.”

The interviewer leans forwards slightly, interest sharpening. “And speaking of heart… I’ve got to ask. There’s been quite a bit of social buzz the last few days. Rumours of a certain someone? An American someone?”

Cam shifts slightly, the smile on his face morphing—softer, more real. “Yeah. There is someone. My boyfriend, actually.”

My breath catches as I watch.

Cam continues, his voice level. “He’s American but lives in England full-time. He flew out with me for a bit of the tour—got to show me what a real Fourth of July looks like.”

“You mean fireworks and grilled everything?”

Cam laughs. “Exactly. And family. A lot of loud, welcoming, amazing family.”

The interviewer’s grin widens. “Is that the first time you’ve shared that publicly? About having a boyfriend?”

Cam nods once. “Yeah. It is. But… I’m proud of him. Of us. He’s been a huge support—quietly, without ever asking for recognition. That’s just the kind of man he is.”

I swipe a hand across my face, heart doing weird backflips.

“Will we get to know who he is?” the interviewer prods gently.

Cam doesn’t falter, but his expression shifts—protective now.

“This is the only time I’ll be speaking about my personal life publicly.

While we’re not hiding, Brent Parks and I are also not making a spectacle of our relationship.

He’s not in the industry. I want the focus to stay on the game, on my team.

But he’s a big part of my life. And that matters too. ”

There’s a pause. The interviewer nods with quiet respect. “Understood. I have to say, it’s refreshing to see an athlete so grounded. What’s next for you?”

Cam leans back slightly, confidence tempered by fatigue. “Recovery first. Then back to Exeter. We’ve got our sights on next season already. A bit of downtime, but not much. Still… I’ll be visiting here again, I reckon. Got a few good reasons to.”

I let out a shaky breath, eyes stinging a little. Because damn if this man isn’t everything.

The interviewer finishes with a handshake. “We’ll be watching, Camden. And I’m sure your fans on both sides of the Atlantic will be too.”

As the screen fades out, I just sit here, phone limp in my hand, heart too full to move. In three days, Camden will be back.

And I’ve never wanted anything more than to hold him again and tell him exactly how proud I am.

Fuck, I can’t wait.